


In Days Of Yore

by TaigaKunaix



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games), Mortal Kombat - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Childhood Trauma, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship, Mental Instability, Other, Past Lives, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaigaKunaix/pseuds/TaigaKunaix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sorcerer's human life was enshrouded in mystery, much like the deepest pits of his very own island. It ended short, abrupt, and painfully the second he stepped into another world. Now, a rare smile would cross his sinister features, as the man he once was continued to fall in an endless pit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> The thought of Shang Tsung having a backstory was pretty interesting to me, so I decided to make my take on what his life was like before and at the start of when he was truly enlisted with Shao Kahn. I figured he would be human beforehand, so his life does take place in Earthrealm. It will be in varying in POVs, mainly third person omniscient, and there will be time skips (aka years passing by and such). I also made some adjustments; Shang Tsung's real name is Shangdi.
> 
> Also, the timeline is in the BMKs, because Shang is old af. This story has nothing to do with what happened in Conquest, so no Master Cho or Omegis here.
> 
> A little warning though: this fanfic will get really twisted, so there is angsty stuff in the future, trust. Just letting you all know.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Shang Tsung or any of the characters in Mortal Kombat, but I do own the OCs in this fic.

The afternoon sun was out once more, the sky's blue and brushed with white clouds and the cool breeze made the small, young trees rustle. Tiny grass on the dirt blew with the air, surfaces of rivers, lakes, puddles wavered by pebbles that wouldn't stay their place once disturbed.

The sound of a young boy’s footsteps slapping against his slippers. Running through the gardens once again, the basket that he held to his side jingles with his rapid steps. Once he reached the rice gardens, he slid to his knees, and looked across the row, picking out the ready crops and placing them gingerly into the bucket. He went from row to row, picking and replanting seeds of rice, his tiny hands frequently adjusting the far too big sun hat that he wore. Even though it wasn't all that hot and sunny out, he still wanted to wear it anyway. With a huff, he stood up and looked at the seeds with a smile on his face, and ran back home with both hands on the basket this time.

He stepped into the house, and nearly into the kitchen because he had to turn back and remove his woven slippers. He reentered the kitchen, presenting a basket full of rice seeds in front of his mother.

“There were so many, Mama! I got all of them this time!” He was nearly hopping up and down, rice happened to be his favorite food of all time, and having so much of it made him elated.

She knelt down, and removed her sun hat from his head, patting it with a smile on her face. “Good job, Shangdi. Although I may need a bit of help separating them, you can help me with that right?”

Shangdi’s mother’s smile was someone that was always treasured to him; every time she did, her eyes would smile too. She smiled a lot, matter of fact, and no matter how upset he was, it would be her smile that would make him feel better. And rice too. Definitely rice. “Okay!”

She chuckled, rubbing his cheeks and standing up again to grab an even bigger basket for the rice. She laid out the seeds carefully, and instructed Shangdi on where he should separate them. With compliance, his tiny hands emulated the work of his mother, grabbing a step stool because he was too small to fully see the inside of the large basket on the table.

It was in the afternoon on a Friday, which meant that Shangdi wouldn't have to be taught anything. His father usually administered different subjects he'd be required to learn, like writing and math. He was really good at writing because he grown to love ‘big' words, as the other kids would say. They had a special zing to his ears, like that of the spiced-sweet flavor of cinnamon. A lot of times he'd sit in his room with a small dictionary and read it recursively, and sometimes he'd use those same words with his parents. Writing was the easiest part of the day.

But he hated math.

Math for some odd reason was really difficult for Shangdi. Not the addition and subtraction thing, but multiplication, and dividing. And fractions; fractions were the seven year old boy’s worst enemy, especially the fractions that have different denominators. For some reason, he just couldn’t wrap his head around it, every time he tried to add the fractions, they’d always be wrong. Or whenever he’d multiply it, he’d mess up and the proportions would be wrong. If fractions were a person, he'd hit them with a large wooden spoon for giving him such a hard time.

That was what he would mostly likely be learning tomorrow, since they did regular multiplication about two days ago. He would be presented with many double digit to single digit problems depending on the operation, and he'd have to solve all of them in a certain amount of time. In order to stay from being confused in his class, his father would give him a small book of problems in the same caliber. His father always gave him an equal amount of time every day, but depending on what the operation is it would take longer or shorter. And he most likely wouldn't finish the fraction problems for tomorrow.

He pulled his hands from the basket, their work was finally done. His mother sat them out in the sun, and she came back in. She went towards a small cupboard in the living room, and picked out something. Being the curious child he is, he at first tilted his body to try to see what was in her hand, but it was to no avail. So he walked to where she was, and tapped her shoulder.

“Mama,” his taps were light, he retracted his hand, “Mama, what’s that?”

In her hand was an envelope, it was a weathered texture and a color of beige, with gold linings around the sides. She pulled the small rope underneath the circle, and out came a message in neat handwriting. “I have got this a few days ago. Uncle Xhi is coming over tomorrow, son.” She turned to him, seeing his face was that of confusion, she continued, “He only saw you when you were a baby.”

“Was I really small? Like, tiny?” Shangdi made a gesture with his fingers.

She chuckled. “You were small. Even smaller than now.”

The boy's hands ended up on his hips. “I'm not tiny! I am going to be a man soon!”

His mother let out a chuckle. “I know you are, but that takes time. You still have much to learn.” She put an encouraging hand on his shoulder. She puts the small letter back against the cupboard, Shangdi looks down at its neat words, and his mother faces him again. “But until then, you can go and study for your lessons tomorrow.” With a nod, little Shangdi obliges. He wraps his small arms around his mother in an embrace, and walked to his room.

Shangdi was a short kid, shorter than the average seven year old boy, with hair that went down to his upper back, stopping a few inches past his shoulders. He had light skin and was slim, his eyebrows were slightly arched and he had light, bright brown eyes. His voice was high pitched, as are most children of his age, though if one weren't looking at him well enough, they would mistake him for an Asian little girl, which is something that the kids around the block would say.

And almost instantly after that thought, Zemin came into mind.

Zemin lived in the same neighborhood as he did. He was taller and ‘stronger’ than Shangdi, and he had short hair. Zemin had a knack for making fun of the way Shangdi looked, his most infamous nickname was ‘girlie', which sounded stupid to Shangdi. Almost any time they'd cross paths, it'd be Zemin starting something with him, and his annoying butt was super persistent, it’d take an iron pipe to get him to stop. What makes it worst is that the other kids don't even back Shangdi up. They literally just stand and watch, silently siding with Zemin just because he talks with them the most.

Matter of fact, the worst thing about this is that he has the same lessons on the same day with this kid. The classroom itself wasn't all that big, it was a neighborhood class, only able to house 20 or so kids, which is the amount that attend right now. Kids go in at the age of five, and continue on these lessons until they are ten. It's only for four days and each day takes a good two hours ending in the afternoon since the teacher tackles a different subject every day. And every single day, there would be some stupid trick that Zemin would play on him. Sometimes, he'd bring in lunch only to have it ‘accidentally’ fall to the floor, or he'd be shoved on his way to the classroom, or he would have to wait a century and then some just to get a new sheet whenever Zemin would hand them out, which would take Shangdi’s time, which would force him to finish the sheet at home when he should've, rather _could’ve_ , done it in class.

Geez, that kid annoyed him so much.

And to make these swimmingly _pleasant_ situations better, the teacher always pinned the two against each other. Meaning that if one of them did good in any little thing, the other would get called out. Yup, just right in front of the entire class. And Shangdi always gets the highest scores in their tests, so the teacher would call him up and make him stand in front of all the other kids while he congratulated him. Shangdi always wanted to disappear every time, because now that makes the other kids hate him even more, and that makes them side with Zemin even more.

He didn't know if the teacher was doing this on purpose or not, but the tension in the air would be too hostile every time they get their exams back. Usually, the teacher gives them back a week after they have done it, so it would be highly unlikely that he'd get the results back tomorrow.

He opened the wooden door, left it slightly open, and went to a tablet that sat on the floor. Grabbing it, he sat himself down on the sleeping mat, and pulled out a small booklet of math problems. _What am I gonna do today…_ He flipped until he hit a page that he didn't do, and nearly cringed.

_ And what do I get? Fractions, of course. _

He looked at the first five problems, they all had the same denominators, so he zipped through that easily. Just keep the lower number and add the top, yadda yadda, all that is simple, until he hit the next ten. The denominators were all different, and it varies from addition to subtraction.

_ Great. _

Biting the end of the charcoal pencil, he plopped his cheek on his left hand, and started to change all of the denominators. _¼ plus 4/8...that's 2/8… which is 6/8, ¾…_ After about an hour, he managed to finish half the page which, sort of by his standards, was reasonable because there were forty questions on only that top half. And now on to the bottom, multiplying and dividing fractions with different denominators.

Shangdi slowly put his papers down and looked up at the sky, it was slowly getting dark. The hue of the sky was a darkened cyan color, and there were a few specks of stars and the moon also showing its rear face. As much as he wanted to ace in this subject, he suddenly felt super tired. And besides, they were going to be taught more of it tomorrow, he can tell, so it'd be fine. They didn't even have homework for this yet.

“Is my boy in his room?”

Shangdi stood up from his sleeping mat, and went to hide to the side of his drawer, where his dad wouldn't see him. Oftentimes, his father would do this little game of ‘Hide and Seek’ whenever he came home. And since Shangdi was good at hiding, he would often jump out and scare his dad.

He heard the sliding of his door. “I don't see him here, but hmm…” his father's footsteps reverberated in the boy's ear, as he went to the sleeping mat and started shaking the sheet that was balled up. “Nope, no Shangdi here.”

Shangdi’s little giggle gave it away. His father looked towards the drawer, and slowly leaned forward to peek at the side. He saw nothing more than a small head of hair. Shangdi spun around and jumped out, flailing his arms out as he did so.

“Boo!”

His father gasped and backed away, with a hand on his chest. “Son, you scared me!” Shangdi of course took this opportunity to attack his dad with a really tight hug on his waist. His dad laughed, and knelt down to hug his son. “You heard the news, right?”

“Yes,” Shangdi’s head was on his dad’s shoulder, which made his voice muffled. He stood straight but his hands didn’t move. “Uncle Xhi is coming over!”

His dad nodded airily, “Indeed. He is very happy to see you all grown up, it’s been several years since he last saw you.”

“I don’t remember what he looked like.” Shangdi’s eyebrows scrunched up inquisitively. “What did he look like?”

“He had a lot of hair before, but shorter than yours. He looks kind of like me too.”

“Ohh…” With the little tidbit of information, the little boy traced back his memories to see if he can indicate Uncle Xin’s appearance. There weren’t that many people he knew in his life that had hair past their chin, so it was pretty easy to pinpoint how he looked like. After the thoughtful pause, Shangdi raised his small arms. “Maybe tomorrow, he’ll have really long hair down to his knees!” He did a little motion form his head to his knees to emphasize his statement.

His father laughed wholeheartedly. “I bet he would.” He looked around the room, with his smile still in place from the earlier comment. “Did you study for your lessons tomorrow?”

“Yes, I did. They weren’t that hard though, so I think I’ll do good.” Kind of. He may have only finished three quarters of the page, but he _studied_ , though. Shangdi looked towards the open window in his room, eyeing the sky. “It is really late, _baba_.”

His father nodded, “I agree. You need to sleep for tomorrow. Uncle should be coming after your class, I don’t want you to be tired throughout the day.” He led Shang to his sleeping mat, and tucked the boy in when he finally laid down. “Goodnight, son.” He leaned down to give the boy a kiss on the forehead, and ruffled his hair. With that, he stood and left the room after being called by mother. Shangdi watched his father walk out of the room, gently sliding the door on his exit.

Shangdi turned in his sleeping mat, and looked at the sky again. His little fingers played with the button on his wraparound sweater, he was both happy and anxious for two different things; one of them was because of a visitor, and the other was because of school.

His fingers never left the button until he slept.


	2. Enter: Uncle Xhi

Usually, waking up on school days were always a problem, because no matter what time he went to bed, Shang was always tired. And it wasn’t like his body was exhausted, he just felt like his mind was tired. He didn’t know how to explain it, it made more sense in his head. It wasn’t like he’d miscalculate the time, because he was almost always right. He learned a lot from the days he’d sit outside, just from watching the sky move and change shades. Because of this he can easily tell what time he had to sleep, whether he was late or not in the morning, and what time he’d have to come back inside. Even with all of that, he always managed to feel tired when he had class on a certain day.

But not today. Today he didn’t feel tired, he felt pumped. Almost ready to take on whatever tried to tackle him down.

More like  _ whoever _ tried to.

He removed the wool sheet from his body and sat up, doing a long stretch. He arched his back with his mouth wide open in a silent yawn, his arms in the sir as he did so. Once that was over, he got up from the mat, and walked out of his room and into the kitchen. He stopped and looked at himself on the bronze mirror on the wall, and he puffed out his cheeks. His clothing was pretty disheveled, he had been moving while he slept, and his hair was a mess. Deciding to make use of the small hair band on his wrist, Shang’s hands wrapped around his back length hair, trying to tie it the way his mother usually did, but he kept failing. At one point, he tied the band around his hand instead, and then he would get it partially right, only to have a lock of hair not wrapped into the band. He also had to deal with annoyingly stubborn strands of hair that just seemed to defy gravity and stick up in the air. Seriously, how do they do that?

“I see you’re awake.” His mother walked out of her room, and kissed him on the cheek. 

He did a 360 degree bow. “Good morning, mama.”

She greeted him back with a pat to his back, and turned to the kitchen. He looked at her and called out of to her.

“What is it, Shang?”

“Can you… help me with this?” He raised the band, which was stuck in a web of tangled hair that was still connected to Shang’s head. “I can’t tie my hair, it’s too hard.”

His mother chuckled, and knelt right beside him. She turned him around so that he didn’t face her, and she literally undid the tangles on the band, and his hair as well, and tied his hair into a bun that rested high on his head. All in under ten seconds. Shang blinked once, twice, three times, and looked at his mother.

“Mama, you’re magical…” She laughed at his compliment, and he smiled. “Can you teach me how to do that one day?”

“Of course I will. Now come on, it’s time to get you something to eat. You still have enough time before your classes start.”

The food didn’t take long to prepare, for Shang didn’t ask for that much. He didn’t feel all that hungry when he was either focused, or excited about something. He ate, savoring the taste because food is amazing, and in several minutes he was done with the little meal. He put down the chopsticks, he could even hear the kids playing outside from here. He got up from the floor, taking his plate off of the dining table.

“Mama, I’ll do this one.” He walked up to her and put the plates in the sink. “I got this.” He planned on washing his own dish, but he had to get on the tip of his toes to reach the plate in the sink, and he couldn’t even turn the faucet off. His mother smiled at his efforts, and she reached over while he was putting the wash cloth away to turn the sink off. He smiled and took another cloth to dry his hands off.

“Uncle is coming after class.” It was more of a statement than a question to Shang. His mother nodded to him either way, telling him that he needn’t rush in class. Going back in his room to grab his tablet, he stopped when he looked outside.

There he was. There Zemin was, just running around like a fatty, looking all nice and cool with the other kids. But of course Shang knew that he was a bag of salt, the boy was nowhere near as ‘nice’ as he looked, all those kids were just sheep, blindly following him because he’s more acceptable, not even giving Shang a chance.

Why bother, he really didn’t desire to play with them anyway.

With a deep breath, he made his way to the front door, and outside. Despite his annoyance, he found it hard to actually suck up the small bit of anxiety that came over him every time he saw Zemin. They boy didn't evoke fear in him, he knew that, he swore on that, but it always happened. Was it intimidation? No, Shang knew that what had in strength, he lacked in brains, there is no reason to get intimidated by someone with less wit than he. Was fear of the amount of of kids, that he'd be embarrassed in any way possible, that his humiliation would be unjustifiably null and void?

Probably that.

He stepped carefully, trying his best to avoid the other kids, he didn't want any quarrel with anyone. Shang passed one house, then another, the classroom itself wasn't that long a walk, just about five minutes. He treaded close to the houses instead of the outer field, his fingers hugging against the tablet in his hand.  Shang crossed over to the outer perimeter of the classroom, and looking back, he noticed the other kids were approaching the small building too. With a tiny, but determined exhale, he walked in and took his seat. A few minutes later, the other kids started piling up. He narrowed his eyes at the way Zemin entered; the boy didn't see Shang of course, but he walked in with his whole group of friends, and he was making them laugh, and they were laughing and smiling at his most likely corny jokes and puns. His little fingers silently placed the tablet on the table as he observed the children taking their seats, pretty much everyone was tuned in to whatever Zemin was saying. Once most of the children were seated, Shang put his focus on the teacher's desk, both hands clasped underneath the desk.

The teacher entered the room and tapped the wooden stick on his desk a couple times, the final tap silencing the classroom. His name was Mr. Dao, and he was a pretty good teacher, except Shang felt that he had a habit of comparing everyone in the small classroom.

“Most of you came a bit later than usual. Did you forget that today was a class day?” He remarked with a smile, his voice nowhere near demanding.

“No, Dao  _ Xiānshēng _ !” The kids all spoke in a concurrent chorus, and the teacher chuckled.

“Well, since only one of you have decided to follow the rules,” Shang instantly tensed, he kept repeating  _ please don't  _ in his head like a mantra, his fingers holding each other tightly, “I have decided to give you tardy kids a pop quiz!”

Everyone groaned, even Shang did, because he didn't want to look suspicious or something, and he also didn't like pop quizzes. And then, to make things even worse, that Zemin had to open his mouth to ask something.

“Who was early besides all of us,  _ Xiānshēng _ ?” Zemin had his hand raised as he spoke, Shang side eyed him shifting in his seat in the most conspicuous way possible. “I'm pretty sure everyone came in at an equal time.”

“Not everyone. Maybe if you weren't too busy playing outside, Zemin,” Mr. Dao crossed his desk and his arms, and stood in front of it.  _ By the gods _ …,”Maybe you can follow Shang, who knew to come early.”

What made this even worse, was that the class was deathly silent, and Mr. Dao only picked Zemin to represent the entire class being tardy,  _ and  _ he put Shang as the good example, in front of a bunch of socially bigoted kids. Maybe that was a bit of a stretch in his vocabulary, but one would get the point. Shang tried his absolute hardest to keep his eyes down and on his fingers, which were now fidgeting against the button on his shirt. He could feel the stares of the other children, and including Zemin.

“No wonder,” Zemin drawled out exaggeratingly, “He's always coming in early, Dao  _ Xiānshēng _ , because he doesn't play with us.” He even turned to face Shang and look at him. “Why don't you want to play with us before school? How come you keep ignoring us, Shang? We want to play with you.”

_ Oh, you all have played with me alright _ . That wasn't his intentions, even the washed faces of the other children were fake. Zemin leaned forward as he spoke, with a disgustingly imploring facial expression. The other kids only had faces ranging from the same as Zemin, to anger, irritation, and finally, envy. Shang Tsung took this opportunity to look at Zemin square in the face, and before he would say anything, Mr. Dao stepped in.

“Now now, Zemin. Shang will play with you all when he wants to, okay? Let's begin with the lesson.” At least he had the courtesy to end the tension that he, possibly  _ purposely _ , started. One of the kids turned away from Shang and towards Mr. Dao.

“But what about the pop quiz?”

“I was joking, I have no quiz to give out right now. I have a lesson, however, you all must pay attention; it is on fractions.”

_ As I predicted yesterday,  _ Shang sighed, as he took the pencil in his hand, he noticed Zemin dart a glare at him from the corner of his eyes. Shang Tsung returned the look almost twice as menacing, and started to write what Mr. Dao was teaching.

The lesson actually wasn't that hard. This whole time Shang Tsung didn't realize his problem with dividing could be solved by simply flipping one of the fractions and multiplying it, which made more sense than trying to divide it all the way. Time actually seemed to zoom by, and they were finally dismissed for the day. As the other kids ran out of the classroom, Shang took his tablet and walked out, of course to avoid leaving earlier than all the others who were still jaded about his earliness. 

“Shang.”

And Mr. Dao calls him when he seriously wanted, no,  _ needed _ to leave. He turned around and went up to his desk.

“Yes?” 

Mr. Dao leaned forward to address the little boy. For some reason, Shang felt disrespected at the little act, even though it meant no harm. “I graded the tests, but I won't be in early tomorrow. They will be on my desk, and I need someone to hand them out for me before I get in. Can you hand them out for me?”

Ooooh,  _ perfect _ opportunity, because now he’ll make Zemin wait a full eternity for his little sheet. Shang smiled and nodded, almost doing a bow. “Sure,  _ Xiānshēng _ . I’ll make sure everyone gets one before you arrive.”

Mr. Dao thanked him, and Shang adjusted the tablet in his arms, walking out of the classroom while holding back a smirk. Several steps out of the class’ vicinity, and he found himself looking at all the kids sitting with Zemin. The group were all on some stone steps right in front of one of the houses, it was around a dozen of them just sitting with Zemin and laughing, sharing jokes and making funny faces as they did so. As much as Shang hated Zemin, a little tiny part of him wanted to have a group like that, where everyone would joke and laugh and be amicable to each other. The seven year old shook his head to the thought; he’ll probably feel tired after a few minutes, he didn’t know why but a lot of social interaction really taxed at his energy.

Shang reached up and slid the door open to his home, and walked straight into the kitchen. He figured Mama would be in there, but she wasn’t. He was going to turn around and look for her in the other room, but there was cooked rice sitting in a ceramic pot.

Well, why not eat while looking for Mama too?

He went to a cabinet with a stool, and stood on it to carefully grab a bowl and serve himself. He puts the plate down on the table next to the rice and reaches for the large wooden spoon.

“It isn’t ready, Shang.”

He just about turned around and looked super guilty while doing so, but he gave her a toothy smile. “I was just checking, Mama.”

She tilted her head. “ _ Mmhmmm,  _ you were indeed.” Shang stepped to the side, and allowed his mother to take the large pot. She turned to him. “Ah… Shang, can you go to the market and buy some wheat for me?” She reached into a wooden box, and gave him a small pouch of money, as well as gesturing to a backpack that leaned on the wall of the kitchen. Even though he didn’t eat yet, he thought about it; in the time it takes to get to the market and come back, the rice would already be done. Sitting here and waiting for it would bore him to no end, and make him super hungry. He nodded, taking the pouch of money and putting it in his pocket, and grabbing the backpack. The backpack was wooden weaved, and when Shang puts it on, it was taller and bigger than him, which kind of made him waddle a bit more when he walked. He could’ve held the wheat in his hands, but he found it difficult, so he usually opts for the backpack because it was easier to carry things. 

Taking a step outside, he slid the door closed carefully, and made his way to the market. It was actually much quieter than when he was walking home from school, which was literally several minutes ago. The kids weren’t outside, Shang was alone on the road, and the breeze was pliant and silent. This was purely his aesthetic.

“Isn’t that backpack too big for you, short stack?”

And of course, Zemin had to ruin everything once again.  _ Only _ him.

He just wanted to buy wheat, go home, and eat. Was that too much to ask for? “I’m not in the mood,  _ Zemin _ . Go home, and leave me alone.”

“Nope.” Zemin stepped in front of Shang, the taller boy putting his hands on his hips. Shang let out a groan. Shang tried to sidestep him, but every time he did, Zemin would bring his annoying butt in the way.  “What did Mr. Dao say to you?”

“Huh?” He almost forgot about the thing he had to do for his teacher. 

“Were you kissing up to him again, girlie?”

“W-No I wasn’t!” Shang’s high pitched voice did little to make Zemin believe his denial. “It’s none of your business.”

“I run this town, Shang.”  _ Suuure, you do _ . “I have the right to know.”

“ _ No you don’t. _ ” This is getting more irritating by the second. “Look, I’m not telling you anything, okay? I am just out to get something, so can you just maybe  _ move out of the way _ ?”

“What are  _ you _ gonna do if I don’t, huh?” Zemin spoke teasingly, poking Shang’s shoulder with his finger. “I am staying  _ riiiiiiight _ here.”

Shang inhaled deeply, this kid was getting on his nerves. The little boy tilted his head at Zemin, eyebrows arched in annoyance. All he wanted to do was get some wheat, and now Zemin decides to bother him after what he said in school. So Shang decided that if Zemin wasn’t going to move, he wasn going to make him move.

He rotated his upper body and spun, whacking Zemin as hard as he could with the large basket, which made the boy fall to the side. He then proceeded to the direction of the market, not even looking back at the other boy on the ground. 

He made it to the market in a good five minutes, and walked up to the wheat vendor. The grains were all separated in large buckets, and each had a small bowl from which the buyer can grab and pour into the bags. Shang took two bags, and filled them both up with grains. He then went to the vendor owner, and placed the bags on the table, standing on the tips of his toes.

Mr. Wu, the vendor, looked at Shang with a smile, as the boy puts the pouch of money on the table as well. Shang smiled back, and paid for the wheat. In the same amount of time it took to get to the market, Shang Tsung made it to the block. Zemin wasn't outside, and the boy was stoked.

_ Served him right. _

He slid his house door open, and closed it. Trying to jog to the kitchen, he called out his mother. “I got it, Mama!” 

“Thank you.” Taking the backpack off his shoulders, she gave Shang a kiss on the forehead. “The rice is ready, now.”

Inwardly smiling to himself, he went into the kitchen to serve himself some rice. He sat on a pillowed seat, and placed his bowl on the mahogany table. He takes one mouthful, and reels back at the taste. He hasn't eaten since he left for his lessons, which technically was less than three hours ago, but time during class was always slower than usual. It didn't take long for him to finish, and when he did, he heard a knock from the living room door. Shang stood slowly, and went towards the counter, which faced away from the living room. He leaned and peeked over at who was at the door. His mother opened it, and in came his Dad first, he greeted Mama and made room for someone else.

Shang raised his eyebrows at the next person, who happened to have balding hair, and looked much older than his father. The second Shang saw him, Uncle Xhi made eye contact with him, and chuckled.

“Shang Tsung? Come out here, youngen; I haven't seen you in years.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for Chapter 2! I have nothing else to add, other than I hope you enjoy this!

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing else to include, other than I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and tell me if you'd like the intro so far.


End file.
